


Dance On My Back

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Drinking, M/M, Massage, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Sleep Deprivation, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Julian is exhausted and drunk. Asra has an idea. What could possibly go wrong? (A lot of things, probably.)





	Dance On My Back

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song _Soft Domination_ by The Screaming Females.

Julian is drunk. 

He’s been drunk for the past three hours, slowly building up the intoxicated cloud in his mind. Life is easier when he’s drunk. He doesn’t have to  _ think  _ when he’s drunk. Not about the blasted plague, not about Count Motherfucker’s latest screeching fit, not about the feelings that he doesn’t know how to get rid of. It’s just him and a glass of Salty Bitters, and that’s the way he likes it. 

“Another?” he asks the bartender when they pass by his side of the bar. It isn’t incredibly busy —it’s late, and most of the patrons have found  _ other  _ places to be— but he catches the bartender eye him with what he refuses to recognise as concern before nodding and refilling his drink. 

Julian raises the glass towards him. “Cheers,” he slurs with a too-big grin before downing half the glass in one go. It’s a bad idea; the alcohol  _ burns,  _ even after six —eight?— glasses of the stuff, and he winds up spluttering to himself. He catches the bartender rolling their eyes before they turn away, no doubt in a desperate desire to get away from him. 

That’s all anyone ever wants, Julian muses moodily to himself. To get away from him. Not that he can  _ really  _ blame anyone but himself for that. He knows that he’s… difficult, at best, but it isn’t as though he’s not  _ trying _ . He  _ wants  _ to be worth it! He would  _ die  _ for a chance to be worth… anything. It just hasn’t been in the cards for him in Vesuvia. Or anywhere else, really. 

“Ilya?”

And speaking of cards. 

The sound of Asra’s voice, clear and concerned, might’ve startled Julian if he’d been any more sober. As it is, he merely glares with no small amount of indignation into the glass in his hands. Maybe if he ignores the object of his unwarranted affections, Asra will take the hint and just... go away.

It isn’t likely, but it’s worth a shot. 

“Ilya, it’s nearly dawn. Have you been here all night?” 

Asra has —unsurprisingly, annoyingly— not gotten the message. Julian groans a little, wordlessly, in an attempt to ward him off further (because perhaps if Asra can’t understand him,  _ then  _ he’ll go away) and takes a small sip of his Salty Bitters. 

Ugh. Nasty flavour. Shoving it down his gullet in one swallow had been a much better idea. 

A hand settles lightly on his shoulder, pressing down momentarily and then releasing. The hand doesn’t go anywhere, but it isn’t holding him down, either. 

The abnormally warm palm and the softness of the touch have Julian on edge  _ immediately _ . He  _ hates  _ how much he craves Asra’s touch,  _ loathes  _ that even in the state he’s in, he would do  _ anything  _ to keep Asra close. 

“I know you’re listening,” Asra murmurs, his voice near Julian’s ear. Julian finally spares him a glance and realises that Asra has taken a seat beside him at the bar, and is leaning in, presumably to get his attention. 

It works. 

“Leave me alone,” Julian mutters, looking down again. His glass is a quarter full. He has to resist the urge to down the rest in one shot. 

Asra’s fingers curl, the tips brushing the sensitive skin at the side of Julian’s neck. Despite himself, Julian leans a little ways into the touch. 

“When I suggested you take a break, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Asra tells him, and there is a soft amusement lying underneath the concern now. 

“Sure it was,” Julian replies. He isn’t sure what he’s saying; Asra’s touch has rendered him absolutely useless, as it so often does. 

Asra huffs a laugh, his breath gently mussing Julian’s hair. “No, I don’t think so.” There’s a pause; Asra begins to knead his fingers gently against Julian’s shoulder, always staying  _ just  _ above the collar of his shirt. “You should go home. Get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to.” Julian’s protestation comes more petulantly than he means it to. “I’m perfectly content here, thank you very much.” But he’s pressing into the impromptu massage, now, and his eyes are drooping. He wants to fight it… but he’s also well-aware, even in his hazy state, that it’s a fight he likely will not win. 

“Ilya,” Asra murmurs. He tuts —fondly, Julian thinks, but doesn’t want to get his hopes up too far by letting the thought form cohesively— and lets his fingers trail,  _ finally,  _ under the collar of his shirt. “You’re  _ ridiculous.”  _

Julian tries to reply, but the only sound that manages to leave his lips is a contented hum. 

Asra laughs, a proper laugh this time. “And tense,” he adds, laughter fading. “When was the last time you slept?” 

Julian tries to remember how to speak. “It’s… been a while,” he admits. He forces his sleepy eyes open so he can look at Asra, even though staring at him doesn’t actually help his resolve at all. “I’m fine.” 

Asra fixes him with an unimpressed Look, and Julian refuses to cower from it. He succeeds, but only barely. 

He  _ cannot _ , however, stop the whine of protest that slips from his lips when Asra pulls his hand away suddenly. 

“Come with me,” Asra says, sliding neatly off the barstool. He stands there beside the bar expectantly, gazing at Julian, and Julian… Well. He has no choice but to follow, does he not?

Stumbling off the barstool with considerably more difficulty than Asra, Julian manages to catch himself and stand upright. Asra offers him a small smile before turning. 

Julian barely has time to toss his payment on the bar before Asra is out the door, and it’s with a good amount of haste —and a healthy amount of stumbling— that he manages to follow Asra outside. 

“Where are we going?” Julian asks, when he finally catches up. Asra reaches over without slowing, steadying Julian with an easy touch to his arm before withdrawing the hand again. 

“Back to my shop. I have an idea.” 

Julian has known Asra long enough to understand when he’s finished giving up whatever information he wants to. He’s a mysterious one, Asra is. Julian isn’t sure  _ why  _ he’s so drawn to him, other than the fact that Asra is beautiful and intelligent and a better person than he himself is and—

Perhaps it’s best to keep from dwelling on it, Julian decides as he nearly upends himself over a crack in the ground. 

The cool of the near-dawn air is a welcome shock to his system, Julian finds. It isn’t exactly  _ sobering _ , but the nearer they come to Asra’s shop, the better Julian finds he can keep his balance. By the time Asra unlocks the front door —and Julian firmly ignores the fact that all it takes is a palm to the weathered wood and a murmured incantation— Julian is standing steadily without a helping hand from his companion. 

“Go upstairs and lie down on the bed,” Asra orders the second they’ve stepped inside. 

Julian blinks.

When Asra turns away from the door to find Julian still standing blankly behind him, he rolls his eyes. “Ilya, I know you heard me. Go upstairs. I want to try something.”

Alright. He… heard correctly, then. Julian nods, tongue too thick to allow him to speak, and spins on his heel, the flourish almost as dramatic as he intends it. (He almost finds his way onto the floor, but he  _ doesn’t _ , he  _ sticks  _ the landing, and that’s what matters.) 

“Take off your shirt!” Asra adds, calling up to him as Julian slowly makes his way up the stairs. Julian blanches a little, but… he isn’t going to argue with Asra now, not when every step makes him realise just how exhausted he is and the bed looks so comfortable when it finally comes into view. 

Once upstairs, Julian sheds his shirt with minimal difficulty and drops it at the foot of the bed. He eyes the bed curiously for just a moment before giving in to his instincts and clambering into it.

Sinking into the pillows is a  _ heavenly _ feeling. The entire place smells of incense, of spice, and of  _ Asra,  _ and Julian wants to hide here forever. If he has to leave anytime in the next year, it will be too soon. 

It isn’t long before Asra’s light footfalls on the stairs alert Julian’s exhausted mind to the presence of the magician. He squints sleepily at Asra as he comes up the stairs, catching sight of a small, wooden bowl in his hands. 

“Turn over, on your stomach,” Asra directs. Julian wiggles a bit like a fish out of water before figuring out how to move his heavy limbs properly. “Good,” Asra adds, murmuring the praise like it’s some kind of secret between the two of them. Julian shivers. 

“I want you to relax, Ilya. Fall asleep if you feel like it. This is for you.”

Julian wants to ask what he’s doing, what’s going on, but the bed dips with Asra’s weight at his side and he loses all form of coherent thought. 

Asra is sitting on a bed. _Asra’s_ bed. With him. It’s too much to comprehend. 

Asra doesn’t just stop at sitting beside him, though. No, Julian feels him press gentle fingers against his back for a moment, and then the weight redistributes. Asra is… 

Asra is sitting on top of him, settled somewhere between his ass and the back of his thighs. Julian honestly isn’t sure if he’s even still awake. 

“Relax,” Asra murmurs again. Something  _ squish _ es wetly a moment later, and then a warm substance is slowly being massaged into Julian’s upper back. The smell of rosemary, of lavender, of some other spice Julian can’t identify, something spicy and soothing all in one hits his nose, and despite the fact that Asra is  _ sitting on him _ , is  _ touching him _ , Julian slowly feels himself relaxing into the bed. 

Asra murmurs a steady string of praise as he continues to knead his fingers carefully against the expanse of Julian’s back, and the sound and the touch is enough to finally lull him to sleep. 

The last thing Julian hears before he loses consciousness is Asra’s voice, fondness clear in his tone. 

“Rest, Ilya. You deserve it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are love. 
> 
> Come scream at me on Tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


End file.
